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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202549">NFWMB</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie'>iloveyoudie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Endeavour (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Loss, Feelings, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Modern Era</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:08:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202549</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronnie Box had never in his entire life felt as helpless as he had the first time he’d seen George cry.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ronnie Box/George Fancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>NFWMB</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
Ronnie Box had never in his entire life felt as helpless as he had the first time he’d seen George cry. A step into the flat, bag of shopping in hand, and George was just standing in the middle of the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his chest rising and falling with visible heaving breaths that got harsher as the moments ticked past. His half-hunched posture Box recognized as immediately wrong, and then his arms trembled and shook and his jaw clenched and his thin lips got thinner and he fought and failed to stop them from trembling as well. 
</p><p>
It was his eyes though, watery, wide, desperate and lost, that had Ronnie suddenly feeling like someone had stabbed him through the chest. A firey hot pike straight through his sternum and with it an overwhelming need for explanation - revenge - defense, not from George but from whoever had done this to him.
</p><p>
“Everythin’ alright?” He knew it wasn’t, but it was what you said, wasn’t it? He took a few steps and dropped the shopping on the table. 
</p><p>
George said nothing. His eyes had been on the floor and then jumped to Ronnie’s face and something about that broke him. A choked sound came from his chest, his whole torso wrenched with it, once and then twice, and then he nearly bent in half as the tears finally began to spill. 
</p><p>
It was the worst sound Ronnie had ever heard. He felt like he’d been punched. First stabbed, now punched, it was nearly crippling. He wanted explanations. He wanted someone to answer for this. He didn’t even know what had happened yet, if this was done to George or if this was just life and circumstance, but he wanted more than anything to be able to end whatever it was. To say that he’d fixed it for him.  
</p><p>
Ronnie moved towards him, arms out, and George threw himself against him. He buried his face in his chest and finally released the last bit of his restraint. He sobbed again, a miserable sorrowful sound, and his tears soaked into Ronnie’s shirt as he bunched his hands in the fabric, and Box was helpless to do anything but hold him. He could feel his own heart in his throat, his own eyes burning in sympathy but he wouldn’t cry himself. He was angry. How dare anyone do this to George?
</p><p>
The heavy sobs died down eventually, the pair of them hadn’t moved from the spot, and George lifted his head and looked up at him with watery eyes, “I’m sorry-”
</p><p>
“Shh,” Ronnie ached to see him. It was fucking horrible. He wanted to do something to stop it, anything, but what he wanted more was for George to feel better. As better as he could. As comforted as he could. <em>Right. Now.</em> Because he was too lovely of a thing to suffer like this. Because he was supposed to be happy and upbeat and troublesome and cheeky and not despairing. Not sad. It was messed up. He couldn’t bear to see him like this, “Nothin’ to be sorry about. Let’s sit down, alright?” 
</p><p>
Box smoothed George’s hair back, brushed his splotchy cheeks with a thumb, and kissed him on the forehead as he nodded an agreement. 
</p><p>
As George went for the sofa, he followed, not daring for one second to let him get too far away. It was an unreasonable instinct he knew, to immediately bristle like George’s guard dog. They were home, it was safe here, yet he still couldn’t stand not knowing if it was going to be alright.
</p><p>
It had to be alright. 
</p><p>
Right?
</p><p>
George waited for Ronnie to sit before he crawled on top of him and sat in his lap and turned his face into his neck again. When he started crying again, Box felt his own breathing accelerate. 
</p><p>
It wasn’t alright. George wasn’t alright. He had to.. <em>something</em>. 
</p><p>
It may have been George crying, but it was Ronnie who felt like his heart was being ripped out. 
</p><p>
“What’s happened?” He murmured into George’s hair as he held him tight. 
</p><p>
George seemed to try and catch his breath. His face was rubbed into Ronnie’s shirt again, he sniffled miserably, he muttered something about snot and an apology, but eventually he lifted his head and took a bracing breath, “My grandad.. He died…” 
</p><p>
And then Box’s resolve puttered away. 
</p><p>
Yes, he was angry still. Aimlessly. Deep-boned ungrateful anger. That old villain, fairness, cruelty, life being aimed against them all. He couldn’t help <em>this</em>. He couldn’t punch it away. There was no culprit but time and no revenge to be had at all. 
</p><p>
And he knew what loss was like. What it felt like in your bones. He also knew logically that it was inescapable, but it didn’t make it easier or better and it hurt him anew to know what George was going through. 
</p><p>
“Oh, Georgie,” It wasn't said in that usual teasing way, it was soft. Gentle. Affection. Love, “I’m sorry.” 
</p><p>
George sobbed again, a fresh sob, and once more pressed his face into Ronnie’s chest. “I’m so stupid? I knew he was old. He’s been dying for like… ten years or summat.. I don’t know..” His words were punctuated with inhales of breath as he turned his face away and scrubbed his hands across his eyes and cheeks, “He just… I don’t know. We used to be close when I was little-” 
</p><p>
“Oi, you’re not stupid,” he cupped his cheek and made George meet his eyes, “You’re upset, yeah? Sad. Family’s important. I know.” 
</p><p>
George seemed mesmerised by him a moment and nodded an agreement that didn’t quite meet his watery eyes, “It’s- I don’t know. I hadn’t even seen him in a couple of years. He was in a home and he was ill and - it’s not like it was unexpected - I should have gone to see him maybe - I don’t know,” His eyes welled again “I don't even know why I’m so upset!” 
</p><p>
“Cause you loved him,” Box said plainly. It was a conviction that was solid and sure and it made George swallow and watch him seriously, “And time and distance and being sick or whatever never really changes that.” 
</p><p>
George was breathing deeply, trying hard to regain his composure, “You’re dad died, right?” 
</p><p>
“Yea,” It wasn’t a secret, not so much of a secret that he hadn’t mentioned him a few times to George anyway, “A good while ago now.”
</p><p>
“I’m sorry.” George murmured. 
</p><p>
Box actually chuckled, leaned in and kissed him gently on the face, “You didn’t kill him, so don’t apologize.” 
</p><p>
George’s jaw trembled and his lips twisted and struggled against his urges to cry once more, “It just... It feels so <em>bad</em>.” His voice broke again. 
</p><p>
Ronnie once more felt that twist of pain in his gut. His heart in a vice. His eyes prickling with emotion that would never come to fruition. The helplessness though, it was like a gaping empty abyss. 
</p><p>
“It changes,” He murmured into George’s hair, “It always hurts a bit. But it changes.” 
</p><p>
George was quiet again. Ronnie just held him, rested his cheek against the top of his head, and willed the sourness in his gut away. He had to tell himself that just being here was helping. Even if there was nothing to destroy. No punishment he could inflict on someone else. Nothing he could grind to dust in revenge. It was unfair. It would always be unfair. It always had been. But George needed him here, grounded, and reasonable. 
</p><p>
If George felt better, he’d feel better. So he just needed to be here. To listen. Rub his back and kiss his head and serve as his snot rag if thats what it took. 
</p><p>
“What can I do for you?” He finally asked. Anything more. Anything tangible. 
</p><p>
“Just sit a while?” George had calmed. He just sounded miserable now, “And.. maybe tea in a bit?”
</p><p>
“Definitely tea in a bit. And a cool damp flannel for your face.” 
</p><p>
George nodded then he sounded less miserable. After another pause of thinking, “Biscuits?” 
</p><p>
“Obviously.” 
</p><p>
“And then maybe a shower later, together?” He sounded less miserable by the second. Still sad, but less despairing. 
</p><p>
“Yeah, I think we can manage that…” Ronnie smiled small. 
</p><p>
George turned and kissed him more fully, slow and grateful and that gaping abyss inside of him filled and flooded and warmed and Ronnie felt like maybe he had done something after all. Given him something. It wasn’t enough.. But he would keep trying. Always trying to give George back what he’d given him. 
</p><p>
“Thank you,” George murmured, kissing him again softly, quick, light kisses in a slow and steady succession before he just rested their foreheads together. 
</p><p>
“Anything you need, love,” Box returned all the kisses, “you just ask.” 
</p><p>
Because the bottom line was that he’d give him anything.
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Something I wrote quickly one night and have just sat on for a while.</p><p>Name is a Hozier song... gotta love him.<br/>NFWMB ... Nothin Fucks With My Baby</p></blockquote></div></div>
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